My Lover's Gone
by NavyVet1990
Summary: A JAG SongFic.


TITLE: My Lover's Gone

AUTHOR: Navy Vet

SUMMARY: JAG Song Ficlet. (Rated G.) My tribute to Agent Clayton Webb.

This piece is dedicated to all Webb fans everywhere.

I had to write this. I needed the closure, even if no one else cares.

PAIRINGS: Harm/Mac; Webb/Other

SPOILERS: Season 9 Episode - Hail and Farewell

DISCLAIMERS: The JAG characters aren't mine. If they were, they wouldn't have said or done some of the things they said and did. But they're not, so …

WARNING: Tissue alert. Not beta'd. All mistakes are mine.

CREDITS: The haunting song is called "My Lover's Gone" by Dido, from the album No Angel.

FEEDBACK: Please ARCHIVE: Yes, I'd be honored.

_My lover's gone_

_His boots no longer by my door_

_He left at dawn_

_And as I slept I felt him go_

_Returns no more_

_I will not watch the ocean_

_My lover's gone_

_No earthly ships will ever bring him home again_

_Bring him home again_

_My lover's gone_

_I know that kiss will be my last_

_No more his song_

_The tune upon his lips has passed_

_I sing alone_

_While I watch the ocean_

_My lover's gone_

_No earthly ships will ever bring him home again_

_Bring him home again_

Lieutenant Colonel Sarah MacKenzie had only begun to mourn the death of Clayton Webb. She was still shell-shocked and overwhelmed. The news from her doctor took precedence, so she had pushed her grief aside in order to deal with more pressing issues. Now, she was filled with sorrow and guilt.

She thought about the last time she saw him, leaving to go on what ended up being that last, fateful mission. She had cared for him deeply, that much was true. As he walked out the door for the final time, she blurted out that she loved him. In that instant, Mac felt he needed to hear those words, and she had the strangest feeling that he might not come back. It was the risk of being involved with someone who had such a dangerous job.

Webb's cryptic response was "I'm so relieved." It turned out to be his last words to her. She remembered the smile on his face as he said it, and then he was gone. She wondered if he knew she wasn't in love with him. She hoped he believed her, and if so, that it gave him some kind of comfort in his final moments.

Mac stared out the window, not really focusing on anything. God, Clayton Webb was really gone, never to return. He had been through so much this past year, and they had been through so much together. She had so many regrets, made so many mistakes, had lost too many people, and she dissolved now in silent tears, not making a sound.

Mac turned away from the window and looked over at Harm, sleeping. He looked so drained and weary. The past several days had been emotionally exhausting, with both of them getting very little rest. He had dozed off a short while ago, and she didn't want to wake him. She was determined to 'suck it up' and be the tough Marine, but she had been dealt too much this time to handle it alone. Harm was her rock. He was there for her. She knew he was affected by all of this too, yet he put his own needs aside, and gave her his total, unfailing support. He had been almost constantly by her side, watching over her, quietly making sure she knew that she would never have to feel alone. Yet, somehow, at the same time, he knew when to give her the space she needed, never pushing her.

Mac thought back to the Admiral's retirement ceremony, and her conversation with Harm out on the porch. He was so sweet and awkward, trying to tell her in his clumsy way how he felt about her. She had realized in that moment, the depth of his feelings, and knew without a doubt, that he would always be there. Without hesitation, he had confirmed it. Even after she told him what the doctor had said, he never wavered. She remembered why she had fallen in love with him in the first place. All the past arguments and hurtful words didn't matter anymore. They both finally realized they couldn't live without the other one in their lives. Mac didn't know how things were going to work out, but they would take it one day at a time.

Mac was looking out of the window again, when she heard Harm stirring behind her.

"Hey," he said softly, getting up and padding over to her.

"I'm sorry if I woke you." She had been sniffling.

"No, it's okay. I didn't mean to nod off." Harm came up behind her and put his arms around her.

"You know what? This really sucks. This whole year has sucked."

"Yeah. It has." Harm rested his cheek on top of Mac's head. 'On so many levels,' he thought. He wrestled with his own demons and regrets. A lot had happened in the past year, and he had made his share of mistakes. He thought he had lost his best friend, and then had finally admitted that he loved her. Now, he was afraid for her and all that she was suffering, and terrified that he would lose her. Not only that, but a man he once considered a friend was dead. Harm felt weighed down with guilt, sadness, and fear.

Mac turned around, wrapping her arms around him. Letting go completely, she leaned against Harm and sobbed into his strong shoulder, as he rubbed her back with gentle hands. They clung to each other for several minutes until she fell silent. Harm sighed, and Mac felt the hitch in his breath.

"Are you okay?" Mac lifted her head to look up at Harm, and saw tears glistening in his eyes before he could look away.

"I don't know … uh … not really. Are you?" He cupped her face tenderly in his hands and wiped at the tears on her cheeks with his thumbs.

"No. Not yet." Mac hugged him tightly to her, not wanting to ever let go. She gazed into his eyes, seeing the love and concern there, and managed a small smile. "But I will be."

In a small town, not far beyond the outskirts of Utrecht, a city in The Netherlands, a man sat out on the tiny patio of his small rented town home and sipped his morning coffee. The weather was unusually mild for late May and the sun was out for the first time in days. He wore a pullover polo shirt and khaki slacks. His closely trimmed goatee itched, and he rubbed his chin, wondering how long it would take to get used to it. A book lay unopened on his lap, his hazel eyes gazing out into the distance. He was lost in thought.

He sighed deeply. Clayton Webb was no more. It was a good name and he would miss it. He didn't have much choice, he had gotten in too deep this time and he had to get out, permanently. Too many people knew who he was; too many enemies were after him. He was told never to return to the Washington, D.C. area, and preferably not the entire United States. The false paper trail had been meticulous and thorough. No one would ever know his body never went to the morgue in Hawaii, not even his mother. Her grief would be genuine. There was no other way. It would put anyone he cared about in danger to even suspect he was alive. Perhaps, some day, he could get a message to his mother from a 'Lt. Abby Cowen' just to put her mind at ease. However, it might be years before he could take that risk, if she lived that long. This wasn't like the last time, when everyone was led to believe he had been killed in that explosion, and he had to hide out and lay low for a while. This time it was forever. It was life altering, leaving the old life behind for good, and starting over with a new one. Clayton Webb had been erased.

He rubbed at his beard again. He had a completely new identity with impeccable documents to match. His name was now Connor Weston, and it would take some time to get used to it. At least he got to keep the same initials. He smirked. At the time, that seemed important to him. He had been transferring money from investments and such to a Swiss bank account for years, and had ensured there would be no problem accessing his funds under the new identity. The other day, he set up an account at a local bank. Fortunately, everything went smoothly, so at least financially, he felt secure. Even with the lousy exchange rate on the Euro, he wasn't too worried. As long as he was reasonably careful, he could live comfortably.

It felt strange not to be working for the Agency anymore, or as Harm and Mac called it, the 'Dark Side'. He smirked again. His career was everything to him for so long, and it was still hard to believe it was over. Even if the latest disaster hadn't happened, he had been close to quitting. He had lost his edge, making the mistake of letting emotions interfere. He had allowed himself to fall in love with Sarah MacKenzie. The feelings he had for her had gone back a long way, even before their mission to Paraguay. Somehow, deep inside, he knew it would never have lasted. He was kidding himself to think that it could. Her heart didn't belong with him.

He thought back to the last time that they were together. He was leaving the country, and Sarah said the three words he had longed to hear. She looked more stunned than he was. He couldn't help hoping just a little that she meant it, but deep down he knew better. He wondered if she had somehow sensed that he wasn't coming back. He also wondered if she was mourning him at all. He knew with certainty that Rabb would be there for her, and that she would go to him. He convinced himself that Sarah would move on and be fine. Harmon Rabb was a good man. He actually hoped they would work things out. They belonged together.

He sighed and ran his hand through his hair. He had been through a lot and it had been an all around crappy year. Ever since Sadik tortured him in Paraguay, he had felt he was on a downward spiral. Now, he had lost everything, his job, Sarah, the few friends he had, and he was worried about his mother. He felt utterly alone. He needed to stop thinking about what could not be, but wasn't sure how he was going to do that.

His gaze was unfocused, totally unaware that he was being watched. His neighbor thought he looked sad and troubled, and didn't want to startle him.

"_Hallo, _Connor!_ Goedemorgen!_" A female voice called out to him, interrupting his introspective musing. He looked around to find his neighbor waving at him from her patio.

"_Goedemorgen, _Katja_. Hoe gaat het_?" He waved back. Luckily for him, Dutch was one of several languages in which he could converse passably. Katja had teased him, telling him she found his American accent to be quite 'charming.' The fact that many Dutch people spoke excellent English was comforting to know.

"I am great!" Katja replied. "And how are you?" She switched effortlessly to English, knowing it was more comfortable for her enigmatic new neighbor. Her cheerfulness was infectious, and he couldn't help but smile. He liked her lilting voice as she spoke. Katja was a natural beauty, he thought. She looked great in jeans and a sweater with no makeup, so he could only imagine how gorgeous she must look all dressed up. Athletic, lean and leggy, she was nearly as tall as him, with long, blond hair, blue eyes, and pale, porcelain skin, the complete opposite of Sarah, he realized.

"I'm doing okay," he answered.

"What a beautiful day! Would you like to take a walk with me down to the café?"

"_Ja, _I would like that very much." He stood up to bring his book and coffee mug inside. "I just have to grab my keys. I'll be right over." He stepped into the narrow, multi-level townhouse. It was quite barren, with only a few meager pieces of furniture that came with the place, and devoid of any personal items from his past. He was starting over on so many levels. He had met Katja right after moving in, and she promised to take him shopping when he felt up to it. She appointed herself his tour guide, showing him around the area, getting him acclimated. It was sweet of her to help him get settled. He had already learned quite a bit about her. She was in her early thirties, divorced, had a large, close-knit family, and a wonderful circle of friends. She was intelligent, gregarious, loved music and dancing, and played the piano. Her life was busy, yet happy and uncomplicated.

When he came back outside, Katja was already waiting in front of his door, grinning mischievously, her blue eyes dancing. He especially liked her smile, which lit up her face, and revealed an adorable dimple in her right cheek. "If we walk far enough, we can treat ourselves to some _oliebollen_," she said. He looked confused. "A delicious pastry. Trust me, you will like it."

As they headed down the street, she hooked her hand affectionately into the crook of his elbow. "Tell me, Connor, do you like spicy food?"

"I would say, when it comes to food, I like just about everything."

"_Goed_. Tonight, I am making a dish called _nasi goreng_. It is an Indonesian specialty, and I would like to invite you over for dinner."

He smiled at her. "That sounds wonderful. I accept." He found himself looking forward to it, and to enjoying her company.

"Maybe I can convince you to play my piano," she teased, giggling.

He actually chuckled and shook his head. "Hmmm, we'll see." They continued strolling arm in arm, and he finally began to relax. It was time to stop feeling sorry for himself. To start over, he must bury the past until the memories didn't hurt so much. He had no choice but to move forward, one day at a time.

"Connor, when I came outside earlier, you seemed to be so very far away." Katja thought he was attractive and sexy, with a great smile that she hadn't seen nearly often enough. She knew so little about this mysterious, quiet man. He was reserved and serious, he hardly spoke about his life, and he seemed to carry such emotional pain with him. She would be patient and not rush him, hoping that he just needed some time. "Are you sure you are all right?" Her voice was filled with genuine concern.

"Well, not quite," he admitted. "But, better each day, thanks to you." He looked into her beautiful blue eyes, and squeezed her hand with his. A slow smile spread across his face, his eyes twinkling. "In fact, I'm beginning to believe that I'm going to be just fine."

The End


End file.
